


Upon the Charred and Bitter Ground

by Midnight_Run



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, Post-Kuroshitsuji 129: The Butler Bedeviled, Soma Asman Kadar-centric, Spoilers for Kuroshitsuji 148: The Butler in Sorrow and in Joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Run/pseuds/Midnight_Run
Summary: In which a mourning Soma attempts to move on and fails rather spectacularly at it.





	Upon the Charred and Bitter Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers abound up to the latest chapter (148) of Kuroshitsuji. The majority of this story takes place in the missing period between when Soma awakens at Sullivan's waaaay back in Chapter 129 and his reappearance in Chapter 148 with a brief interlude at the end that occurs Post-Chapter 148, so you'll want to be familiar with the events there for it to make much sense.
> 
> And why, yes, I do indeed have like a dozen other projects I _should_ be working on, but here I am with Kuroshitsuji Soma-centric shenanigans. Look, okay, I have _feelings_ about Kuroshitsuji. We work on the things we are inspired to work on, my dudes, not the things we _wish_ we were inspired to work on. So... yeah. No use fighting it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_“The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.”_  
― Daphne DuMaurier, Rebecca

**+++**

Soma Asman Kadar loved his life in London.

Loved living with Agni in their townhouse in the middle of the city.

Being able to share what he had with those less fortunate then himself.

Learning more about himself and about the world around him than he'd ever thought possible.

He loved the parks and the shops and the people.

Being able to be a helping hand whenever his friend required one.

He even loved the rain and the fog and the way the cold seemed to creep in no matter how many layers he wore or how well-tended the fires.

There had been times when he was unhappy, certainly, but, to judge it upon its whole, the year he had spent in England had been quite easily the happiest of his life.

And much of that owed to the company he kept.

To Agni and Lizzie and the boys he’d met at boarding school and the servants of the Phantomhive household and Sieglinde and so many others he’d met along the way.

To Ciel.

Prior to leaving his home in Bengal, he had never made friends easily.

He was well-liked, of course, or at least he’d thought he was. People had certainly always spoken to him kindly, greeted him fondly, but he had never had the knack for moving beyond that stage of acquaintance with most of those with whom he was acquainted.

Connecting was... a challenge.

It always had been.

For Father, he had been but one of many and far less interesting than the rest.

For Mother he had been a burden, a distraction, never extraordinary enough to stand out among his elder siblings, a poor currency.

To his siblings, he was only ever competition in an already far too crowded field, young enough and far enough removed from the throne to never pose a true threat, and thus largely ignored in favor of earning the favor or eliminating the threat of those siblings who might better serve or endanger them.

The few children near his own age that had come to the palace had typically been servants or the children of visiting dignitaries and while none had spurned him outright, neither had any been eager to become friends with a spoilt, demanding prince, especially one who would never sit upon the throne.

He had made trouble for the servants and gotten under foot, he had been an annoyance and an inconvenience to those who looked after him.

He had been, in every conceivable way, a complication best avoided.

And so he had spent his days being actively avoided, more often than not, never realizing it, because he’d had Mina to pamper and dote upon him.

It had been Mina who had first taught him the irresistible appeal of affection, of being the object of someone’s full and undivided attention. It was her lavishing favor upon him during his childhood and awkward adolescence that had instilled in him the desire and the confidence to follow her example, to give of himself freely, to be kind and affectionate with those around him, to see himself as deserving of all the affection given him in return until he began to see it as his due rather than a gift. She had spoiled him terribly, yes, and her affection had not truly been altogether genuine, but he was still grateful to her in the present for all that she had given him in the past.

If not for Mina, he would never have met Agni.

If she hadn't always been by his side, he would never have loved her so blindly or been so driven as to cross the ocean in search of her.

He would never have come to Britain.

Would never have met Ciel Phantomhive.

He would never have discovered the truth about her, never seen his own flaws laid bare, would have instead stayed that same spoilt child, valuing nothing and no one above his own desires.

Without Mina's presence in his life, he would never have understood how truly fortunate he was.

Never realized how dearly Agni cared for him or how much he adored him in return.

Never would have made his first friend in Ciel Phantomhive.

He would have missed out on so much joy.

He hoped, wherever she might be, that her life was all she had hoped it would be.

When he had first stepped upon that ship bound for this strange, damp, cold land he’d known only from stories, he had never imagined how it might change him or that the time he spent there would give him more true happiness than he would have ever known possible.

Or that eventually he would let the wrong person into his home or that doing so would shatter that happiness so completely.

Perhaps grief was always the price to be paid for the love one was given.... he did not know.

There were a great many things he did not know and never would.

He blinked up at the wooden carvings in the ceiling above him as tears stung his eyes anew. 

Without Agni's presence in it, the world already seems a far darker, colder place than it had ever been before.

He was not certain how much time had passed since that day, only that it had passed slowly and that the first of those days remained a terrible blur in his mind. 

He knew he must have risen from the bed in which he lay, must have sat with him, but he could remember only disjointed fragments of that time.  
  
The vague, distant chill of Agni's still, cool hand beneath his own; a damp cloth twisting in his hands as he squeezed away the excess water; the searing pain that accompanied every movement; the greasy smear of ash upon his fingertips and the thick, terrible scent of burning which had seemed to cling to him for hours, days, after it was done. 

He remembered sitting on the edge of his sick bed after as Sieglinde spoke to him, her small fingers winding and unwinding the gauze around his hand, but nothing of what she said. None of it stayed with him. He knew only that eventually he must have fallen back into his bed for that was where he had stayed, marking the passage of time in bitter medicine administered and wrappings changed and food choked down and the ache of muscles when he was helped to bathe while his bedclothes were changed.

It had been a long, long time since he had been aided in bathing and changing by hands that did not belong to Agni. Wolf was a kind man who did his best to assist him despite his obvious discomfort, but every brush of his calloused fingers against his skin made him want to scream. 

And all the while, there remained a terrible, silently screaming void within him that he could not name in his belly and a bitter rage that burned like an unquenchable fire in his breast. Agni’s absence was a wound left untreated, left untreated, to spoil and rot within him as time passed him by, achingly slow.

He knew that there were other arrangements to be made, traditions to be observed beyond the necessities he had already completed in those first days, but whenever those thoughts occurred to him he found himself mired in an inescapable reluctance that left him unable to do anything more productive with his time than observe the shift of shadows across the ceiling overhead until, eventually, exhaustion would overwhelm him and sleep would welcome him into its cold embrace once more.   
  
How disappointed he would be to see how useless he had become without him.

”You are stronger than this,” he would have said.

Or perhaps he would have simply stroked his back and let him cry.

Agni had always offered him more kindness than he deserved.

He tried very hard not to hate him for it now that he was left alone with the lack.

+++

He slept.

And each time he woke, there would be one long, beautiful, terrible moment of complete perfect ignorance.

One moment where he woke to find himself drooling upon an unfamiliar pillow in an unfamiliar home and he couldn't remember why that should be. When he would sit up and stare blearily at the sunlight streaming through the far windows and wonder why Agni had not yet come to wake him.

And then it would all come rushing back, rising like a nightmare from beyond the horizon of oblivion where all such horrors must go when humans slumber.

The gun.

The hammer being drawn back.

The slow dawning comprehension.

The terror rising to choke the shout from his throat. 

Throwing out a hand against the muzzle. 

That terrible ringing in his ears.

Agni calling him, so distant, just a distorted whisper beneath that terrible ringing sound.

His expression, so cold.

Not... him.

His eye. 

Was wrong.

Blood.

So much _blood_. 

Agni’s hands, a bruising grip, as they steered him into that room, as they sent him sprawling upon the floor, the door pulled shut between them and the dark of the room as Agni used his own life to purchase his safety.

_Agni._

He can hear him speaking, distantly, voice echoing strangely, words he is just barely able to make out over the wet, meaty sound of impact, over his own screams, as he beat his fists against the door until his strength gave out, long after the world outside the door had gone horribly quiet, until the room went dark around the edges and disappeared.

There is some part of him, he believes in his more lucid moments, that is still there, locked away, pounding aching hands against the door and that that part of him will remain there, caught in that moment, for the rest of his life.

_Screaming._

Crying out for help that never arrives.

Begging mercy that is never granted.

His hand ached still, always, a dull throbbing pain he's already learning to ignore.

Every time he wakes, it is the same, the same forgetting, the same remembering, and he would lie there in the aftermath, his heart raw, exposed, as if it would take only the subtlest blow to end his life.

Only the blow never comes.  
  
Meals came and went, picked over and largely uneaten, and twice a day Sieglinde would appear to change his bandages and ask him a battery of questions and force him through exercises designed to force his hand through a range of movement before giving him foul-tasting medicines to swallow.

Sometimes she would ask him questions about Agni. Little things about things they'd done together and places they'd been.

He is not certain for whose benefit she does this or at whose request.

It hurts to speak of him... burns in that same place, deep within him, where his rage and pain live and thrive, but it is also... pleasant to speak of him. To offer his stories to one who had never known him as he did, who listened with rapt attention and praised Agni’s skill and kindness.

In all her visitations, she never mentioned Ciel or anything of what had happened, as if his injury were an entirely separate event, as if she were inquiring about Agni merely because he was important to him and not because Agni was....

After she left, in those times between, he was left to silence, to his thoughts and pains and memories and the rage and the pain and the waking nightmares brought on by every sudden noise, every pop and cracks of the logs within his fireplace.

By the time her man... Wolf, was it? He wished he knew for certain, but it felt rude to ask after so long and especially when it was obvious that the man was as important to her as Agni had been to him.

Family, of a sort, chosen rather than thrust upon them by the ties of blood.

By the time he arrived to help him bathe and change his clothing each night, he was so throughly exhausted it felt as if he has been hollowed out, his heart scrapped clean of emotion by a blade as dull as theirs had been sharp.

He bathed, he changed, he slipped back beneath the blankets and stared at the shadows the firelight kept dancing upon the walls.

And as he lay there each night it felt as if his grief were laying kindling within that hollow place inside him for his rage to set to blaze once more in preparation for the the next day and the next.

Every day was the same relentless cycle until exhaustion inevitably plunged him into darkness once more. 

Agni had been everything that had good and right in his world and without him he was lost.

Lost and choking upon his rage.

There would be a reckoning.

Something had to be done.

There had to be a price to be paid by those who had taken Agni from him.

And every day that price went unpaid, it stoked the heat of his rage a little hotter, a little larger than it was the day before.

Agni was gone.  
  
And he remained.

Time passed, terrible and achingly slow, and he remained.

And, eventually, he found himself reflecting back on that terrible day more and more frequently, obsessing over every moment, ears ringing as pounded his fists against the door, the way the world had blurred and darkened around him long after Agni had grown quiet, long after the blows had ceased until he lay toying with a loose thread in the coverlet and Ciel’s face swam into view before him and Ciel’s voice, strained and tight and almost frantic, speaking to him from what seemed a great distance.

And the grip of fingers upon him… so tight, as tight as Agni's had been against his arm in those last terrible moments.

Of panic rearing up inside him like a startled rabbit, leaping into his throat, lashing out because it couldn't be him.

It simply couldn’t.

It was a trick.

A ploy.

Ciel was never so… _soft_.

He sat up in his bed, panting, drenched in sweat, fingers wound tight in the bedclothes.

Ciel’s expression swam into his mind, more shaken then he’d ever seen him and it made him feel....

"You said... he brought me here?" He asked one day, surprised by how rough his voice sounded.   
  
Sieglinde glanced up at him, startled, her eyes wide, and it occurred to him that while she spoke to him constantly when she was with him, he hadn't actually spoken to her, or anyone, in some time. "Yes," she said, her expression doubtful and her voice uncertain, hesitant. "Yes, they brought you to us. You were in a terrible state."

He nodded, his thoughts turning inward towards those scattered memories once more. It made sense. If it had been... that other person, he would have shot him and left him there to die as he had no doubt intended to do before Agni had intervened.

Before Agni had....

“How long has it been since...” he trailed off, uncertain how to finish, glad when she seemed to understand what he wished to know well enough to answer.

“Nearly a week.”

A week... his stomach sank, leaving him feeling ill and strange. It seemed like such a very long time. Anything could happen in a week, anything probably had.

“Where is he?” He asked and the look they exchanged made his chest  _ache_. 

He could not bring himself to say his name, not aloud, not yet.

The very taste of it like ashes on his tongue.

“I do not... I am certain he would want you to concentrate on your own recovery,” she replied, offering him a ghost of a smile and patting his shoulder as if he were younger than she, a child in need of reassurance. 

“He is safe as horns, nothing to worry,” Wolf grumbled, though his expression seemed anxious and uncertain.

They were both terrible liars.

And he was very tired of being lied to.

He was also  _very_ tired of being saved by the sacrifices of others.

For he had little doubt that, wherever Ciel was, he was not safe so long as that monster roamed free.

As he lay in bed that night, for the first time, he turned his thoughts from the room and ache of loss within to what circumstances had brought that tragedy to his door.

When he and Ciel had first met, Ciel had told him a story, brief and brutal and light on details, but enough. Enough to know that Ciel had been through something unimaginably horrible and come out the other side intent upon making himself a target for those who would do him harm. That he had endured horrific loss again and again and he had persevered in the face of each new misfortune, finding a way forward even against the most overwhelming odds.

He could do no less in the wake of his own tragedy.  
  
Agni would want him to keep moving forward.... would he not?

+++

When he woke the next morning, there was no moment of blissful ignorance, there was only cold, grim reality and a vague, half-formed determination to seek what justice he could find.

Though he wasn't the least bit certain how he meant to accomplish such a feat. 

He sat up slowly, carefully, using only his uninjured hand to push himself along, inching with painstaking care towards the edge of the bed.

It had taken time, too much time perhaps, but he finally knew what he needed to do, the path he needed to walk… or at least where it should begin.

He did not know if Agni would approve.

Agni was so much better and kinder than he could ever be, of that much he was certain, but… perhaps that was for the best.

And Ciel... Ciel would likely have not have believed him capable of doing whatever needed to be done.

And, to be honest, he was not certain he would be.

But that did not mean he could sit back and do nothing.

His skin felt hot and he was restless with the certainty that he could stay in bed no longer.

He needed to do something.

If he remained there, alone with all these terrible thoughts and only the ache of Agni's loss for company, he felt he might very well go mad.

When he called out for aid, it was the man... Wolf who answered, poking his fluffy head in and grimacing to see him sitting at the edge of the bed.

“You not to be up on own yet,” he said in careful, fragmented English. “My lady say two more days maybe three.”

“Yes, well, I've had enough of lying about, I'm afraid. My apologies for the trouble, but I have no intention of sitting here a moment longer. That said… I, ah... might I persuade you to help me dress? I'm afraid I'd be quite hopeless at it on my own. I wish to learn, I just... I don’t quite know where to begin.”

Wolf hesitated, but eventually he barked something harsh which certainly _sounded_  like a curse, but might well have been a compliment to judge by the beginnings of a smile that was tugging at his lips as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

He should not have been surprised when Wolf retrieves fresh clothing--his clothing--from the wardrobe, but he is. 

“He think of all thing,” he snorted, but there was a fondness and grudging admiration in his tone that made his skin crawl because Wolf could only be referring to Ciel’s terrifying Kahnsama and that man was a horror in a fine suit and no amount of thoughtful clothing retrieval would ever make him think otherwise.

“I can't say I share your admiration, Agni is a far superi-” he slapped a hand over his mouth as if he could snatch the words back, as reality poured down his spine like icy water, shivering through his veins. 

Agni is.

Agni _was_.

Wolf mumbled something, the words soft and sounding vaguely hushed as one might offer condolences or prayer, though he could not be certain why he thought so as the man patted his shoulder roughly and said nothing more. There was a flush in his cheeks and he kept his eyes downcast as he fumbled his way through the last of the shirt fastenings.

He was grateful for the illusion of privacy as he wiped the sting of tears from his eyes and cleared the fresh wave of grief from his throat, “What of _him_? What news?” 

Wolf glanced up at him, mouth twisting in a frown, his darkened expression telling him more than enough to know that whatever had happened to Ciel was anything but good. Something foreign and hot coils tight within his chest, squeezing. 

No more.

He would lose nothing else to them.

Nothing and no one.

His hands ache and his eyes feel hot and dry.

“I thank you for your assistance,” he murmured, forcing himself to take a step forward on unsteady legs, wobbling precariously for several long moments before finding his balance, much to the man's obvious chagrin.

Agni would have worried he would hinder his recovery. Would have forced him to sit as he aided him in dressing. Would have led him down the stairs with a steadying hand upon his arm. Would have forced him to take a carriage and held an umbrella over his head to keep him from the worst of the English weather.

But, for all his care and worry, he knew that Agni would not have tried to stop him.  
  
Not in this.

This, at least, Agni would have understood. 

Would even, perhaps, approved of his desire to determination to see it done.

It was a comforting thought that he carried with him as he limped slowly, carefully, through the stairs descent, clutching the handrail with his good hand for support until his booted feet met the marble floor of the receiving hall. 

It seemed fitting that there was no one there to see him off.

One should always begin as one means to continue after all.

Still, he was certain he felt the weight of eyes upon his back as he stepped out into the misty morning alone.

**+++**

He wanted to be sick when he saw him.

Or, more specifically, his image in stark black and shades of grey splashed across the front page of the newspaper he bought off a boy in the street a few blocks from Sieglinde's home.

**SCANDAL! THE SINISTER SECRETS OF THE HOUSE OF PHANTOMHIVE EXPOSED!**

Below the headline was a photo of the newly returned Earl of Phantomhive, impeccably dressed, leaning upon his cane for support before the doors of Phantomhive Manor with his bride-to-be at his side, her expression drawn and serious and an article detailing the salacious story though he couldn't quite focus enough to read it, instead his gaze kept flitting from place to place upon the page, each phrase it alighted upon more outrageous than the last: 

"....newly returned to London after years spent recovering from the injuries he suffered...."

"....horrified to discover his brother had taken his place...."

"....that the impostor Lord Phantomhive had orchestrated dozens of deaths for his own profit..."

"....sources say based on the words of Lady Elizabeth Midford, daughter of Marquess Alexis Leon Midford, and the confession of...."

"....has pledged to make right the wrongs done by his brother...."

And somehow even as the words blurred and swam before him, he could still see the small, satisfied smile on that treacherous face with perfect clarity.

The paper crumpled and twisted in his gloved fist and he had to bite down against his bottom lip as agony erupted in his injured hand, the bandages spotting with blood as he made an effort to straighten and relax his fingers from the fist they’d been attempting to curl into.

Not Ciel.

Whoever that smiling lunatic was, it was _not_ his Ciel.

No, _his_ Ciel was the small figure being escorted to a carriage by well-armed men in drab coats, his Kahnsama a shadow at his back, features blurred by distance and the rain through which they’d walked. The caption beneath read: Phantomhive Imposter Escorted to Scotland Yard for Questioning and Detainment.

And he thought, not for the first time since that terrible afternoon, that he should have _known_ it was not him the moment he opened that door. 

Should have seen the monster for what he was and barred that door instead of welcoming him inside. 

If had noticed sooner all the strange incongruities that set them apart, he.… _no_.

Thinking of such things served no purpose.

It did not truly matter. 

The time in which it would have made a difference was well and truly past and if he still felt the need... there would always be time later for guilt and recrimination.

He forced himself to breath, to smooth the paper out once more so he could look upon it once more.

Upon him and....

Lizzie. 

He traced a finger over her face, so solemn and distant and cold, she seemed a stranger.

It said she had given a statement confirming that monster's claims.

Accusing their Ciel of... that couldn't possibly be true.

She would never betray him in such a way. 

Had that monster threatened her into compliance?

He could not imagine someone so kind would chose to side with him of her own free will.

He read the story slowly, carefully, committing the details to memory, before folding the paper and placing it under his arm.

"Excuse me," he called, smiling at the newspaper boy still standing at the corner beside a dwindling pile of papers. "Do you know the way to Scotland Yard?"

The boy nodded, barely looking at him, "Down the walk, cross the Thames and back down the way; great bloody brick building, can't miss it."

It certainly sounded simple enough.

He thanked the boy for his help and turned his feet towards the Thames.  
  
With any luck, they would have that villain in chains by sundown and he'd be left with plenty of time to contemplate what to do next.

**+++**

Of course, as he sat at an inspector’s desk retelling his story for the third time, several hours later, he realized that he might have underestimated the difficulty of such a task.

It would have been nice to imagine that the challenges he had encountered at Scotland Yard were all more of that monster’s doing, but it had become clear to him in the hours since that, perhaps, Agni had shielded him from far more than simply the physical dangers in their path during their time abroad.

Upon his arrival at the Yard, he had been instructed to wait for someone to come speak with him and so he had.

He had waited as the morning passed into afternoon and the afternoon inched towards evening until his stomach was churning in protest of lost meals and his backside ached from sitting in the same uncomfortable chair for so long.

When someone had finally deigned to speak with him, they had taken him further back into the room and listened to him speak in stony silence for several moments before interrupting him and insisting he wait while they found someone else to speak with him.

Another hour passed, or so it seemed, before another man appeared to tell him once again to wait. 

People came and went around him and still no one came.

Until finally, at long last, someone called his name and escorted him to see this great lump of a man whose breath stank of too many drinks had far too early, who sniffled and wiped his eyes as he spoke and did not bother to write down a single word he said.

At the Music Hall and the school and during every other horrible incident in which he had involved himself, his statement had always been taken by brisk, competent men who had spoken to him seriously, kindly, and sent him home with confidence that they would see justice done to the best of their ability.

Certainly he had run into a bit of friction here and there, but it had never so _blatant_.  

So… _unpleasant_.

Later, he might be touched by Agni's desire to shield him from this harsh reality, but in the moment he wished only that he were more practiced in dealing with such men.  

He was not patient.

He'd never had to be. 

Agni had always been quick to attend to his needs and before Agni there had been servants, leaping to anticipate his every desire.

No, he had never been a patient person.

He was spoilt and self-involved and impulsive and far too often he acted without thought to the consequences.

But he was trying to be a _better_.

And for Agni's sake, to see justice done, he was certain he could be.

He took a steadying breath, straightened, and began again, “Perhaps I am doing a poor job explaining, if you would all-”

“Look,” the Inspector snapped, cutting him off and glaring up at him with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. “I've had about enough of you wasting my time."  
  
"Wasting _your_ time," he repeated slowly, through teeth that felt as if they might crack beneath the pressure the tension in his jaw was applying. "I am attempting to tell you what happened and you can't even be bothered to-"  
  
The man's face flushed dark as he glared at him, "You see here, you ungrateful brat, I am listening to your story as a _courtesy_. You're just lucky the Earl is a forgiving sort or we’d be charging you with trespass.” 

“ _Trespass_?” he managed, horrified, his throat threatening to close around the word.

“And well within his rights he'd be to do so,” the man continued as if he hadn't spoken, straightening his jacket and puffing up self-importantly. “His lordship thought you lot intruders and he was defending his self. And what was he meant to think, I ask you? Returns home from his convalescence to find his home invaded by _foreigners_ and then that man of yours _assaulted_ him.”

When he could not bear to speak for himself, Agni had always been there to encourage him, to support him when he was in need. 

A hand at his back to comfort, yes, but also to give him a push when a push was what was required.

Even death could not take that from them, it seemed. 

He slammed his bandaged hand down upon the desk, ignoring the pain that jolted through it and the blood that almost instantly began to redden the layers it had been swathed in, “Agni was a good and just man and you will speak of him with respect he _deserves_. He saved my _life_. Find me someone else to speak with if you're so reluctant to hear the truth of what took him from me or I shall see you are punished for your brazen disregard for common courtesy.”

"There ain't no one else who-" the man began, face contorting in a sneer.   
  
"What do you _mean_ there is no one else? This place is full to bloody bursting with your lot. I wish to give a statement about a _murder_ and I am not _leaving_ until I have done so!"   
  
He sat back down, hard, arms folded tight across his chest, the jolt of the sudden impact shaking through every aching muscle and it was all he could do not to scream.  
  
The man frowned at him, clearly unimpressed, "Well, then you're gonna be sitting there till judgment day, your majesty, because ain't no one interested in hearing your--"

"That is quite _enough_ , Inspector Smythe."  
  
The color drained from the man’s pallid face so quickly he was surprised he didn’t faint dead away, "L-lord Randall, I was just...."  
  
" _Enough_ ," Lord Randall snapped, glaring down at the man. "This is a messy enough business without you offending visiting royalty. Go find some other task to see to, I will deal with you later. I do apologize for this one's rudeness."

"It's fine," he murmured, even though it was anything but. He felt sick and as if whatever strength had bolstered him had left as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving him shaky in its wake and still so very angry, "Will _you_ hear what I have to say?"  
  
"Yes, of course, come with me, we shall speak privately. I was... very sorry to hear about your man."

"Agni," he replied automatically.

"Pardon?"

"His name. Agni," he stated quickly, the words coming in a rush.  
  
"Agni," the man echoed, "Yes, of course, I will remember."

The man, Randall, led him to a quiet room deeper within the building and left him sitting at a table alone while he went to fetch tea for them both.  
  
The chipped mug he set down before him was steaming and he could feel the warmth radiating from it against his bare knuckles as he began to recount the whole ordeal once more. 

When he was done, the man set his pen aside and stared at him for a long moment, expression serious, "If not for your Agni, I believe it's quite certain you would not be here to tell your tale or give witness to the good works of the imposter we have known as Ciel Phantomhive. I assume you have been keeping abreast of the charges being brought against him?"

"Uh, yes, of course, more or less," he murmured, uncertain how much of the article he'd read that morning was true and how much sensationalized nonsense. 

“Very good. Then allow me to offer you a word of caution, during his time as the Queen's Watchdog, your Mister Phantomhive has made a great many powerful enemies. Those enemies were kept at bay by Mister Phantomhive's position and his status. You would do well to distance yourself from all this before it is too late. Your Agni would not wish you to waste your life on a fool’s errand."

A terrible chill ran down the length of his spine and Soma sat straighter in his chair, fingers curled against the table's top, "You would do well not to presume to tell me what my Agni would wish."

The man winced, "You are right, of course, I apologize. However, I would still urge you to stay well clear of this business and should Mister Phantomhive attempt to contact you, I implore you to send someone to summon us immediately.”

A shiver crawled up his spine, “What."

The man looked at him thoughtfully and he had the most peculiar feeling, as if he were being weighed and measured, though he could not quite fathom why.

”The townhouse you were staying at... it belonged to the Phantomhive family, did it not?”

”Yes, but I don’t see....”

”All in good time. Did you consider Mister Phantomhive a close personal friend?”

"Yes, but... why do you keep calling him that?”

”What else would we call him? He is not the Earl and there is no record of note regarding his given name as such he shall be Mister Phantomhive until such time as a better option becomes available.”

”But....”

"You were well-acquainted with him, were you not? Was that not the reason why you were allowed to stay at his townhouse as his guest?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do wi-“

”And you became a member of the group known as the Funtom Five at his request?”

”Phantom Five," he corrected absently, feeling as if he was missing something. "And, yes, but I don't....”

”Did anything about Mister Phantomhive’s behavior these past few months strike you as odd or unusual? Anything at all?”

”No, I... _why_ are you asking me all these questions? I did not come here to speak about-“

Lord Randall cleared his throat importantly, as if he'd been waiting for just that question, "Well, as you might have heard, Mister Phantomhive is a suspect in several very serious crimes including this ugly business with the music hall...."

He shook his head emphatically, "That wasn't him. None of that was him. You... you have to know that, yes?"

"The investigation is ongoing and we would ask that you...."

The man was still talking, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying past the rage stirring in his blood.

These men would not help him.

These men had no intention of helping anyone but themselves.

”I have heard enough,” he snapped, standing abruptly.

”Prince Soma....”

”No. I came here to speak of Agni and I have done that. I am leaving.”

”Very well,” the man replied, sighing heavily. “I’ll have someone see you out. Where is it that you’ve been staying? I could have someone escort you home."

The way the man smiled, so congenial, so kind, made him uneasy. For the look in his eyes was anything but. He had the look of a hunter spotting prey grazing in the field, alone and unguarded. 

He was no one's easy mark.

"No, that's quite all right, I have no need of such protection."

"I really must insist...."

"Lord Randall, was it? I am a prince of Bengal and a guest of her majesty, Queen Victoria. I should think you would know better than to insist upon anything from me if you wish to stay in her majesty's good graces."

It was a lie, of course. He hadn't the least idea if that woman would care one way or the other. He'd never even met her though he'd heard Ciel grumble about her more than once.

"Yes, of course, I apologize, I was thinking only of your safety," Lord Randall insisted, taking a half-step back.

Good.

He smiled, tight and angry, "Well, if there's nothing further, I shall be leaving."

"Yes, very well, allow me to walk you out, at least."

The man escorts him out in silence and short of railing at him or hitting him, there was nothing to be done but to allow it.

He has never truly wanted to punch anyone before, but he wants to now. Wants to strike out at this man so very badly it was all he could do to restrain himself.

It was just as well, Agni had never taught him how to throw a punch and he was quite certain all he would do was end up breaking a thumb or his hand and he would be truly helpless with both hands injured.

After leaving the building he walks, cautiously at first, moving through shops and glancing over his shoulder, though he's not quite certain whether he truly expects to have been followed or he's simply looking for a way to delay his return to Sieglinde's home. She will no doubt we displeased when she sees the mess he's made of her careful work.

Not that he's scared of her exactly, he simply isn't looking forward to the encounter.

His hand throbs and the ache in muscles is made worse by the cold as day becomes night and he realizes he's spent so long wandering about that he's no longer entirely certain where he is or how he might return to Sieglinde's. In the end, he ends up wandering about aimlessly, turning down familiar looking streets and shivering as the air chills and the fog rolls in.

Eventually finds himself back at the Sieglinde’s door with no clear idea of how he found his way there and only realizing it was the right place when the door opened to reveal a relieved looking Wolf with Sieglinde quick at his heels.

She is quick to yank him inside and begin lecturing him in an incomprehensible mixture of English and German as she pulls apart his soiled bandages and begins caring for the wound anew. 

He's fairly certain she called him a number of very rude names.

Not that he particularly blames her for it.

“ _Oh!_  What happened to your hand?!” A familiar voice asked and he is startled to find himself surrounded by the familiar faces of the Phantomhive servants.

A shiver travels up his spine and Sieglinde curses at him again, demanding he hold still.

“Don't ask him that! What'd Mister Sebastian tell us?! He said: don't be asking about what happened, didn't he?” Mey-Rin commented, jabbing Baldroy in the side.

“Well, yeah, but how was I supposed to know that was from that?”

“I am sorry for your loss, says Emily,” Snake comments, looking solemn where he lingers near Finnian, restless fingers catching at the bottom edge of Finnian's jacket. 

For his part, Finnian looks much as he himself feels and when their eyes meet, he can feel the beginnings of moisture gathering in his own once more and glances quickly away, closing his eyes against the burn. 

He has no idea how long they've been there. If they'd been there that morning when he set out or during the days prior.

He supposes he should be glad that Ciel has someone left on his side.

Still, looking at them makes him feel....

When Sieglinde releases him, he manages a strangled good night before retreating to his room and slamming the door behind him, jarring his wounded hand once more.

The room is much as it was when he left that morning, except now the floor nearest the far wall is piled high with crates and trunks heaped with his belongings. 

He knew without looking that Agni’s few belongings would be in among them.

The first sob is painful.

The rest muffled against the back of his bandaged hand.

“Agni, what am I meant to do?” He whispered later, bloodless fingers clutching his knees as he sat down heavily upon the edge of the bed to stare blankly at all that remained of his former life.

The night was long and his sleep was fitful and broken by the ache in his hands and the memory of his own screams.

**+++**

The next morning he rose early, face stiff and sticky with the night's shed tears, and set about the task of foraging gingerly through the crates and trunks piled in his room until he found his bank book.

He'd seen Agni use it often enough that he was confident he could manage it.

Or, if not, then at least confident enough in his ability to charm someone at the bank into assisting him with it.

The sun was still barely peeking above the horizon when he summoned a sleepy, bleary-eyed Wolf to help him into his clothes once more.

“Where you on to?” Wolf asked in a gruff voice still heavy with stolen slumber, looking for all the world as if he'd like nothing more than to simply shove him back into the bed and perhaps chain him there to keep him out of trouble.

“The bank," he replied quickly, ignoring Wolf's obvious disapproval. "There are a number of affairs I must tend to.”

Wolf stared at him in stony silence.

He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, “Princely affairs. As I am a Prince, you see, and thus have... affairs to tend.”

Wolf nodded, grimacing in that way he seemed to do whenever he found something particularly distasteful or embarrassing, but he must have found the explanation plausible enough since he didn't ask any further questions or attempt to stop him when he left the room and descended the stairs to the first floor.

In the parlor, he could see pale hair and far too many limbs sticking out from beneath the pile of blankets in front of the smoldering fire. A few very content looking snakes were coiled around wrists and ankles and one  _very_  large snake was draped across the high-backed chair near the entry as if it were keeping watch, an impression furthered by how it raised its head and stared at him as he approached.

Agni had been quite taken with them when the first time they'd visited Ciel's home to find that so many had taken up residence there.

He remembered Agni making a point of speaking with the boy who handled them for an extended period of time that first day and, when he was done, he'd smiled and offered the snakes’ handler a quick bow that seemed to mostly confuse him. The slim, pale man looked about the yard as if expecting someone more deserving of such respect to leap from the bushes and--in finding no one--he'd bobbed his head shyly in return, fidgeting as one of the snakes draped over his shoulder dropped it's head as if imitating the gesture.

When he returned to his side, Agni was still smiling brightly, “I have spoken to each of them at great length and they have pledged to keep you from harm if it is within their power to do so. Their handler seems kind and quite capable. He prefers to be called Snake, should you have need of him.”

“Spoken to… the snakes, you mean?”

“Yes, of course,” Agni had replied. “There are seven of them in total. Magnificent creatures. Would you like me to tell you about them?” 

It had seemed so novel that he'd laughed and instantly agreed.

It seemed strange that the knowledge he'd gained from that one brief interlude should stick with him, but it had and as he offered his fingers towards the snake, he found a name on the tip of his tongue. 

“Good morning, Wilde,” he whispered, only slightly disconcerted when the snake bobbed it's head as if in greeting, scales brushing smooth and strange against his fingertips.

“Good morning, says Wilde,” Snake murmured sleepily, his voice muffled.

“You look better today, says Emily."

The king snake poked her head up from where she'd been hiding beneath a chair cushion to stare at him intently as if to make clear her scrutiny.

“I feel better today,” he replied, quietly. “My thanks to you both.”

It is a lie, but they are not responsible for how he feels and should not bear the weight of it.

“Is that Prince Soma?” Finnian’s voice mumbled, soft and as muffled as Snake’s had been a moment before.

“It is," he murmured, keeping his voice low in the hope that the would not have to contend with all the Phantomhive servants or Sieglinde before leaving. "Please don't let me disturb you, I am on my way out.”

Finnian’s fair head popped out of the blanket pile, dislodging enough of the blankets to reveal Snake curled up beside him, both of them still dressed in the clothes they had been wearing the previous evening, “Do you want me to go with you? I could go with you. I'd be happy to.” 

The itch beneath his skin worsens and his stomach ties itself in knots at the thought. 

Holding his bank book between them like a shield, he forces a smile he does not feel, "No, it's quite alright. I think it's best if I go on my own."

Finnian looked positively crestfallen at the refusal, "Aw, I promise I'd be helpful and I'd try real hard not to break anything."

It made him feel terribly guilty, but he... _no_.

He couldn't involve anyone else in his affairs and even if he could....

He hadn’t the faintest idea if he’d actually be able to  _do_  anything.

"Mister Sebastian asked you to stay here and look after the house, says Emily," Snake commented, curling into a ball and tugging the blankets back over his head as if this were the final word on the subject.

He was not one to overlook such an opportunity given.

"I will see you both upon my return," he called, taking the opening and the flick of Emily's tail as his cue to leave before Finnian's pout could further weaken his resolve.

He ducked out the front door and almost colliding with the man walking up the steps.

"Oh, hello there," the man said, smiling pleasantly. He had a tall hat clutched in his hands and wore a dark suit and when he smiled his teeth seemed very white, "Just the man I was looking for!"

He looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place him, "Hello."

The man's smile turned apologetic, as if he saw and understood his confusion, as if it were something to be expected. "Yes, I am... we met the other day. I have been seeing to the care of your Agni. I thought I should call to inform you that the ashes have been prepared for transport if you should wish to come retrieve them."

_Oh._

Those first hours, days, had been a blur, but he could vaguely recall shaking someone's hand, nodding along as information was conveyed to him in a brisk, kind manner half-forgotten even as the words were spoken.

A week, he'd said. A week and they would be prepared.

"Yes, of course," he answered softly, half-formed plans forgotten in the face of this far more important task. "I will... I will come now."

**+++**

His steps, the click of his boot heels against damp pavement, seem to echo as he makes his way down the street, rage still warm in his veins and hot across his cheeks and stinging his eyes, and he can feel each step in his bones and in the cuts and bruises left behind by boots and fists, in his wounded hand throbbing in time with the beat of his heart. 

He'd knelt upon the filthy pavement in the aftermath and scooped up what he could, returning fallen ash to its vessel, though much of what he'd meant to sweep up had clung to his bandages, to his fingers, greasy and unpleasant.

He had some vague memory of retrieving the jewels from the thief's pocket and dropping them back into the hands of the sobbing boy as the boy's terrified mother cowered away from him as if he were as much villain as they and more worthy of her fear than they had ever been.

And he thinks perhaps he is.

Kindness was a virtue best left to those who could afford it.

To ignorant princes who had not yet learned the bitter taste of loss.

Or the burn of such all-consuming rage.

His hands ache where they clutch the cool ceramic of the urn to his chest.

People stare at him as he passes, whispering behind their hands, but none make a move to stop him, to ask if he is well.

Perhaps that is for the best.

He's not quite certain what he would do if someone were to lay hands upon him just now and he would rather not find out. 

And so he walks on through the winter night, aimlessly, certain only that he would not return to Sieglinde's home this night.

His thoughts drift as his blood cools, as the ache settles into his skin, his muscles and he thinks again of Ciel and all the terrible things he knew he'd done for justice or vengeance or simply because he wished to.

And he thought of those horrible men he'd left behind in the alley, how still they'd been and how their blood was splattered and cooling across his skin, his clothes, his hands.

Ciel would have seen what he'd done as permissible, perhaps even necessity. 

Agni... he was not certain what he would have thought of it. Whether he would have seen it as something monstrous or if he would have seen only the virtue in it or been simply glad he had come out of the encounter in one piece and simply prayed for them all.

He was not certain why he had done it.

Not precisely.

He had been afraid, and so angry, yes, so very, very angry, but it... it had been more than that.

And it had felt....

Right.

Once his life had seemed very simple.

And very good.

And he had been very happy.

Now it seems a story he was told and once believed.

Happiness a fiction of words and deeds and smiles that he can no longer quite touch.

He clutches the urn tighter against his aching chest as he makes his way through the crowded evening streets of the city he had once loved so well.

A part of him, a small quiet part, wishes Ciel was there with him so that he might ask his thoughts.

Ask him whether it was grief and rage that made monsters of them or if they were monsters all along and grief merely gave them a reason to be honest in that regard. 

A larger part is glad that wherever Ciel might be that it is far, far away from him.

The way he feels now... he is not certain what he would do if he were present.

Is not sure he could not trust himself to make distinctions between the monster who was his friend and the monster who had killed his Agni.

Not now.

Not when even the thought of them makes his eyes burn and his blood boil.

He is not certain yet of the path he wishes to walk.

And he wishes to be _certain_.

So, for now, hugging what remains of Agni to his chest as he moves through the crowded city streets and ignores the eyes and whispers that follow him.

Tonight he will stay somewhere where he can be alone with his thoughts and clean the blood from his clothes, his hands.

Tomorrow he will see what remains of Agni to safety.

And then....

Then he will find answers to the questions that plague him.  
  
One way or another.

**Author's Note:**

> No, I have absolutely no proof that the servants are gonna show up at Sullivan's place at some point, but that's what I'm going with because it seemed like eventually "Ciel" would want someone he trusts on the house now that he's back to being himself again and ready to get shit done.
> 
> I also have no idea what the turn around time on a cremation is in the early 20th century in the United Kingdom so I went with a vague week-ish period.


End file.
